The more things change...

[Brennor]

Things are moving slowly at the Redmond Barons' HQ today, not much different than any other normal day. The party last night was killer. Celebrating new recruits to the gang usually turns out that way. Curris managed to rig up the lights to the sound system. Mister managed to hack together some smoke generators that complimented the light and sound systems rather nicely. Spider created a few "dance circles", as he put it, by revving up his Rapier and peeling out on the plasticrete of the big room. Shifty cooked up a special batch of product in order to celebrate the new gang members, passing it out freely to everyone attending. Rain and MoonEyes procured massive amounts of synthahol for the party, piling the cans in several convienant places throughout the area. The combination of the strobed lights, the booming subs and the massive quantities of synthahol has left almost everyone feeling like there are jackhammers chipping away at their brains.

Slowly, signs of life begin to appear within. Cat, a name she picked up before her encounter with another gang, rubs her head as she limps to the kitchen area. She passes Warthog, sprawled across his massive recliner, on her way there. She doesn't disturb the current leader of the Barons yet. She glances at his relaxed body, his head sagging down onto his chest. As she often does, she ponders her current existance as she rummages through the cabinets looking for the soy base and the egg flavoring. It really is quite amazing what she can do with that soy crud and some flavoring.

It was three years ago today that Warthog had saved her life. A group of the Barons were waylaid by The Purebloods, falling upon them quickly. A ganger made it away before the melee broke out in full, running back to HQ and calling in reinforcements. Warthog lead the counterattack with a blast from his "Eat My Lead" Warhawk. His Troll fists followed that blast. He was personally responsible for at least half of the other gang's casualties in that melee. However, the counterattacking Barons didn't quite make it to the melee in time. By the end of it, there was only 1 survivor of the original melee, Cat, and she just was barely considered that. Her throat had been torn out and the left side of her body was caught on the wrong end of a shotgun blast. The remainder of the gang beat feet as fast as they could to Doc Chomp's shop Secondhand Hands, with whatever they could carry. Cat was patched up, a second-hand voicebox used to repair her throat. Doc Chomp did as well as he could on the rest of her damage, but she still walks with a limp today, even with his best efforts. Doc Chomp also disposed of the other gang's corpses for the Barons.

Warthog wasn't always the leader of the Barons. The original founder of the gang was a human who called himself King Richie and whose ego was too big for a Troll. It was a name he sort of stole from some 20th century flatvid flick that he once saw. The gang was founded in a small, sub block area, near the intersection of 124th Ave NE and NE 140th St. No additional expansion occured under King Richie's reign. 9 months hadn't even elapsed since the founding before King Richie was removed. It still isn't known who was responsible for the hit, though most of the ganger's suspected The Purebloods. Warthog, King Richie's second at the time, halted all reprisals in their tracks. He felt that it was too clean of a kill to have been perpetrated by another gang.

Noone opposed Warthog's claim to the gang. One, because he had a decent plan to get the gang moving in the right direction, and two, because who in their right mind would go toe-to-toe with a Troll? Over the past three-and-a-bit years, Warthog has managed to successfully increase the gang's territory about tenfold, increase the gang's numbers by about 10, even including all the deaths, and increase the number of activities the gang is involved with. He also lead the acquisition of the gang's new HQ, about two years ago. This new HQ actually happened to be Roland's flophouse at the time. Roland provided no resistance, most likely because Warthog wasn't directly involved in the beatings. The warehouse itself seemed to be taking Roland's side though as a ganger fell through the floor, another had a stack of crates fall on top of him, and a third mysteriously fell down the elevator shaft. After a few minutes, Warthog stopped the beating of Roland, mostly because not many people are able to ignore that much of a beating, not to mention that the warehouse itself was taking a toll on the gang. He proceeded to wake the sleeping Ork up. "I likes ya!" was the greeting given by Warthog. There were some further discussions involved, but the warehouse did become the gang's new HQ and Roland did become one of Warthog's seconds. All-in-all, not a bad three-and-a-bit years. Warthog was, by far, the best leader the gang had seen so far.

Display

Yay! About time, eh?

If you wish, feel free to post about the party last night. You aren't allowed to wake up yet though. That comes after my next post.

More of the first post coming at a later time...

[edit]Stickied thread.[/edit]

[TetNak]

***Last Night***

Spider loved the party, until Frag head butted him in the gonads for no apparent reason. The synthahol made it not quite so painful, but Spider was icing his balls the rest of the night.

He didn't even get to use his '˜dance circles', which he created, instead staying in one general location and not moving so much after the crazy dwarf decided to rack him a good one. Perhaps that's why he kept drinking and drinking and drinking until he promptly passed out on the floor and pissed his pants.

The next day will not be fun.

[Shinling]

Last night was good, Shifty's smile never faded for a moment. Except when he watched Spider receive a vicious "ball butting" from the crazy dwarf. Which after, he made sure to keep his distance from the little one. His free 'goods' were good, though he didn't use them himself. Shifty made sure that everyone got their fill.

The synthahol did a good number on Shifty and his dancing became more stupid looking then normal. But funny as drek to watch. The man always seemed to have a lit cigarillo hanging from his mouth and many, including shifty, had the burns to prove it. He was one of the first ones to crash out from the party, with an unlit cigarillo in his mouth and his lighter in his hand.

[Curris]

Curris was in his prime last night, or so he would tell himself, if he would remember it in the morning. . .

After hooking up the lights to pulse and flash in tune with the music, he declared himself "Master DJ EXTREME!" and ran the sound system all night, piping in the The Screaming Razors Troll thrash early on. Once everyone was feeling liberally out of sorts, he moved on with the mellower techno-beats of Tranceatronic and The Shaman of Oz before finishing off the night by taking requests.

To help celebrate this rippin' groovin' evening, Curris even allowed himself some of Shifty's Zen. Because, when your rockin' so hard you see colors. . . a few more are always welcome. . . Dancing in place by the sound system, Curris started to see the music notes rise out of the speakers, and if he got close to them, he could taste the music! After a few more doses, he hooked up with some hot chick who flew in through the window. . . Too bad no one else could see or hear her, though. . .

Finally slumping down at the base of the speakers, the throbbing of subwoofers in his head being drowned out by the low static buzz of electric audio feedback, Curris fades to black. . .

[od]

Rain, as usual was the life of the party.

He stood up on the balcony nursing a cold sythahol for a few hours watching the commotion down below. A few folks came to talk to him. A few of the girls tried once again to bag an elf. And at the end of the night he tossed his lone empty can down to the floor and climbed the ladder to his rooftop sancturary.

Rain

[Vardaen]

As usual "Mister" Jimmy spent the first half of last night being reserved and aloof. He strolls around the HQ as the party starts taking it easy and hardly touching the joy juice or any of the other recreational pharmaceuticals. He refuses to dance, and lingers on the edge of the fun for hours. Its his typical attitude, while some think him snobbish, and others think him a lone wolf type, any of the gang that really know him, know that he's just shy, uncertain of himself, and a bit lonely. He doesn't fit in, at least he doesn't feel like it, and these wild parties only make him feel more apart from things.

However in normal operating procedure he slowly gets drunk, a little a time, and he begins to troll the dance floor for a girl. By some time in the AM he's had enough to impare his senses enough to get him on the dance floor, and to get him talking and flirting - which he doesn't do too well. However, the woman that he sights in on are in no shape to refuse him, and before dawn rolls around Mister Jimmy has bagged himself a particulary trashed girl with a real need for braces, and some fashion sense. However tucked away in a corner of the loft, Jimmy has passed out next to the girl in a tangle of sweaty naked arms never getting her name, or at least not remembering it.

[Trogdor]

Packrat spent most of the party by the drinks, acting not so much as bartender but gatekeeper. Most of the drek they had was crappy synthahol. But he'd scored a fifth of real bourbon and a halfway decent bottle of tequila and he didn't want to see that wasted. Plus there was the stuff that came from his still. It was a lot harsher than the bottled stuff, but it was pure alcohol. And mixed with Zip Cola it wasn't half bad. Pride made him want to make sure everyone in the Barons get some.

Not that he let himself get drunk. He wasn't one of those hippie elf shamans who kept their bodies pure and all that crap. He liked to drink and he had no intention of stopping. But he'd seen what drink and drugs could do to a mage and he had no intention of becoming one of those pity cases casting burned out spells for a few nuyen to get another drink. This was what he had to get ahead in the world, and he wasn't throwing it away for anything or anyone.

Still, he drank as much as the next guy - maybe more. Partly he counted on his dwarvish stamina to see him through. But after that he cheated. After every few drinks he'd quietly cast a detox spell on himself to sober up. He couldn't count the number of people he'd drunk under the table with that trick.

He ended the night sitting in the beat up couch in the corner, drinking the last of his home brew and feeding some crumbs to the mice brave enough to show their faces when the music finally died down. With the drinks and drugs pretty much gone and most of the gang passed out, he figured it counted as a successful party.

[Bitom]

It's not entirely possible to tell if Roland knew there was a party happening. His couch was one of his few requirements for letting the gang use his warehouse as an HQ, and he rarely leaves it. Certainly he didn't leave it during the party. The fat orc lounged on his couch as usual, drank what people brought to him, talked with who came by, and seemed generally appreciative of the music. He enjoyed the presence of the more attractive non-gang local kids that a good party always brings. Discouraged the attentions of the wannabes that any gang function always brings (In one case, by pointing his hand cannon at the kid, but no shots were fired.) And generally ignored the new members unless they brought beer.

As is his normal use of Shify's product, He avoided anything stimulant-based, and took any downer that came his way. As such, he was far from the life of the party, and by halfway whough, was a snoring lump of overweight orc.

Just another day in the life of Roland, Gang Shaman Extrordinaire.

[Brennor]

Finally, Cat finishes with the soy concoction she created. The soykaf is also brewed. Knowing that Warthog liked to be awoken first, she limps over to his recliner. The 3.1m Troll is slouched over, arms and legs sprawled from the confines of the chair and out across the floor. Looking upon his face before trying to wake him, she sees the features that gave him his name. A short, squat nose, flappy ears, and a couple of broken tusks mirror the animal's visage quite closely. His horns and bony deposites are really the only difference between the namesake's and Warthog's appearances. Warthog's left horn has been broken off and his right chipped in a few places from one too many fistfights. Cat reaches out to shake him awake. The first shove (because really, how do you shake a Troll?) causes his head to loll to the side, allowing her to finally see the blood leaking from beneath his chin. She gasps.

Normally Cat calls out something like "Come and get it you slackers!" as the means to wake everyone up for breakfast. Her voicebox has amplification built in, so she normally has no problems pulling everyone from their sleep with her words. This morning, however, the words that greet everyone and tear them from their slumbers are different. Cat screams so loudly that she overloads her voicebox, something that usually only happens every couple of months or so. When this happens, someone has to go repair-method-alpha her on the back of the neck to get the voicebox to stop doing that.

"Frag-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g"

Maybe today isn't so normal after all.

"g-g-g-g-g"

[Bitom]

Roland's eyes open... He never starts awake. While he might claim this is due to nerves of steel, it's far more likely that his body just refuses to move quickly upon first awakening. He rolls to his feet and waddles over to Cat with a speed that is rarely seen out of the man. A short, therapudic smack later, and Cat's voicebox is behaving again, although the woman's neck probably isn't working as well as it was previously.

"What gives?" He asks, finishing the question out of habit after he notices the source of the scream and bends to examine the gang leader. This, too is normal. Roland does almost as much doctoring for the gang as the crew over at Secondhand Hands does.